by Rosie Thomas
‘I’m sure you can guess. I shouldn’t have let him make love to me but I couldn’t stop it happening. I felt as if I was in heaven. The glamour, first of all. Everything was such fun and nothing took any effort, not like at my house where even the damned kitchen-boy ignores what I tell him to do and the dust lies an inch thick. Ravi has legions of bowing servants, and a string of sweet ponies, and a chauffeur to take him wherever he wants to go in his big car. The food’s all divine, and you should just see the silks and the silver, and he can be more idiotic and funny than any Englishman you’ve ever met.’
‘He has the time to devote to it,’ Myrtle said drily.
‘I know, I know. And he took ages to seduce me, really he did. It wasn’t crude or too insistent, nothing like that. He’d just kiss the inside of my wrist – here – and then quickly cover that precise square inch of skin with my cuff, humbly, as if I’d allowed him a glimpse of the most beautiful treasure in the world. It went on like that for weeks, a tiny bit further each time, and always making me laugh and bringing me heavenly presents and telling me … telling me all the things that I had imagined Ralph saying.’
Nerys thought of Rainer and the Kanihama picnic. The only difference was that she was by this time a shade more sceptical about men and sex than Caroline Bowen was. She felt herself redden, and hoped that Myrtle wouldn’t notice and wonder why.
Caroline lifted her head. ‘When it did happen, it was wonderful,’ she insisted. ‘I want you to know that I don’t regret it, although I’m in such a damned awful mess now.’
Nerys was listening intently.
‘It was at his family’s summerhouse, in the country. When Ravi took off my clothes the air was like silk over my arms and legs. Nothing was going to spoil that moment – nothing. I felt as beautiful as a painting, and as powerful as a queen. He was doing me honour, you know.’
Myrtle and Nerys were silenced. Love had temporarily made a pretty, round-faced, unlucky English girl into something close to a tragic heroine.
Myrtle found her voice first. ‘You didn’t have your cap with you, of course? The hideous rubber thing in its box?’
‘No.’
‘And, of course, Ravi didn’t make himself responsible for any arrangements of that sort?’
‘No.’
Myrtle sighed.
Caroline quickly added, ‘The times after that I mostly used it. Well, I did sometimes. The trouble is that it’s just not very romantic, is it? If it was with one’s husband, I’m sure it would be all right. He’d be used to you going off into the bathroom and fishing around.’
Nerys couldn’t help but smile at her.
‘Then I began to notice that each time I was with him, Ravi made it less of a ceremony. I wanted him more and more, so much that I actually ached for him. I used to babble stupidly about loving him, I couldn’t stop myself, and he edged further and further away. One day when we were alone together, and I was already beginning to guess I might be pregnant, he looked at his watch instead of undressing me and said that he had to go riding.
‘At the Residency party I drank some cocktails for courage and when he asked me to dance I tried to talk properly to him. But, oh, the ice of it. I’d never have imagined he could be so cold, while I was just burning up with fury and fear. That was when you two rescued me. Since then, I’ve been sitting in our dismal empty house, praying for a miracle. But they don’t happen. So I’m pretty much in the mire, aren’t I?’
‘Do you really love Ravi?’ Nerys asked. She had seen the man’s cold, aquiline face and proud bearing.
‘Of course I do. Desperately,’ Caroline flung back, but Nerys suspected that she was clinging to love itself rather than Ravi. That was quite a good thing.
‘All right. Let’s work out what we can do,’ Myrtle said. Caroline gave her a grateful look. ‘Is it too late for us to find someone who can help, do you think?’
‘I’m afraid it is,’ Nerys said. She was firm because it was highly unlikely that any proper doctor would agree to perform a late abortion on a healthy woman, and she couldn’t bear even the thought of the clumsy unofficial alternatives. The other two regarded her steadily.
‘When Evan and I were in Shillong I worked at the mission hospital, in the delivery ward. I saw the results of a couple of botched attempts to get rid of babies. I don’t ever want to see another.’
‘You are a midwife?’ Myrtle gaped. ‘I must say, that’s jolly useful.’
‘No, I’m not. I helped out, that’s all.’
‘Even so. I’ve never seen a baby born.’
‘Neither have I,’ Caroline said. She turned pale at the thought of what lay ahead, but Myrtle was now all briskness.
‘Take that woolly thing off, Caroline, and stand up. Turn sideways and let’s have a look at you.’
She did as she was told, awkwardly smoothing her skirt over a small protuberance. Yes, Nerys thought. Sixteen or seventeen weeks into what was probably a healthy pregnancy. Caroline was slim, but she looked strong and resilient. Even so, she was going to need proper medical care.
Myrtle nodded. She was clearly thinking hard. ‘Would you want to keep the baby? I mean, after it’s born.’
‘I’ve tried hard enough to stop it, haven’t I? There’ve been weeks and weeks when I’ve thought of nothing but how to get rid of it. But now …’ she placed one hand on her belly ‘… I’m confused. It’s growing. I can feel it. But it can’t be Ralph’s, and I know he’ll never, never accept what I’ve done, so if I want to keep my life as it is I’ve got to hide this from him. I suppose Ravi might have acknowledged the baby as his, at least in some way, but only as a bastard, never as part of his family. He’d never marry me, even if I could get a divorce. I’ve stopped even dreaming about that,’ she concluded.
‘I don’t think you should let Ravi Singh know anything whatsoever,’ Myrtle warned her. ‘That wouldn’t be helpful.’
‘What do you think would be the best outcome for you, Caroline?’ Nerys asked.
She gave a small, mirthless laugh. ‘Apart from discreetly losing the baby, you mean? I suppose it would be for me to give birth, secretly if possible, and to find a good adoptive home for the baby, perhaps where I could even visit from time to time. Otherwise, I don’t know. I suppose for Ralph to come back after the war, and for us to try again, harder, to be married in the way I believe we both hoped for at the outset.’ Her lower lip protruded, making her look like a vulnerable child. ‘But that’s really rather a lot to be wishing for, isn’t it?’
Nerys’s heart twisted with sympathy. Caroline Bowen was a simple girl who in the end wanted simple things. A husband, love, a family. Was she any different herself?
Myrtle was smiling and her eyes had begun to sparkle. She had lost the bored expression that had marked her more often since Archie had left. She linked a hand with each of the others and drew them into a close circle. ‘We’re on our own for the rest of the winter. Ralph is in Malaya, Archie’s somewhere in the east and Evan isn’t coming down from Kargil until the spring thaw. So, united we stand, and this is what we’re going to do. We’ll all be pregnant.’
Nerys said, with a dry catch in her throat, ‘I don’t know quite how we’ll achieve that.’
‘Of course you and I won’t actually be, unfortunately, but we’ll look as if we are. Wrapped up in a pheran all winter, with a fire-pot to nurse, who’s to know the difference? I’ve often looked at the Kashmiri ladies and thought as much. Caroline, you’ll stay out in the married quarters for just as long as you can hide the pregnancy and convince all those gossiping wives that everything is as usual. Then as soon as that gets too difficult you can claim you’re lonely living without Ralph and move in here with me.’ She waved a hand. ‘There isn’t really room for the three of us in the poor old Garden, but we’ll find a way round that when we need to. At the same time Nerys and I will also be pretending to get plumper and slower, and we’ll wrap ourselves up so much that if there is any talk, or any question about where a mysterious b
aby might actually have come from, no one will be able to point more than the finger of suspicion at anyone.’
She crowed with pleasure at her plan. ‘Aren’t I a genius? Go on, tell me.’
Nerys said, ‘They say madness and genius are closely related. I know which is my verdict.’
Wide-eyed, Caroline was weighing up the idea.
Myrtle swept on: ‘You and I, Caroline, can go down to Delhi a couple of times, shopping or visiting. No one will bother us at my house, and you can see a doctor while we’re there. Maybe in the last month we’ll have to take you to stay somewhere else, away from the watching eyes. Then, when the baby’s due, Delhi again. After that, we can look for foster parents, with a view to adoption. There’s a war on. Babies are going to be orphaned, aren’t they?’ Her face was almost feverishly bright now.
Ah, Nerys thought. ‘Myrtle?’ she prompted gently.
Myrtle and she had never discussed why the McMinns had no children, even when Myrtle had looked after her following her own miscarriage. She had guessed that they had been unable to, for whatever reason, and because her own loss was so often in her mind she had avoided the question.
Myrtle only held up her hand. Her eyes were fixed on Caroline’s face. Caroline gnawed her lip. Her situation was desperate enough for her to try anything.
‘It might work,’ she said at last.
‘Nerys? Are you with us?’ Myrtle persisted.
They exchanged glances, acknowledging the calculations that they were separately making, and the responsibility for Caroline Bowen and her baby that they would be assuming from now on. ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘Count on me.’
Caroline’s face was brightening. ‘You’re so good, both of you. I’ve never in my life had friends like you.’ She squeezed their fingers so hard that Nerys feared for the blood flow. ‘Friends for ever,’ she declared.
‘I am clever, aren’t I?’ Myrtle laughed.
That evening, Nerys and Myrtle sat down alone to dinner.
Across the starched tablecloth Nerys said, ‘What exactly are you planning? If we’re going to be co-conspirators, you know, you’d better tell me everything.’
Myrtle twisted her glass, examining the lights reflected in the depths. ‘I want to help Caroline, of course. It’s a rotten situation for her.’ Then, in a lower voice, she said, ‘Archie and I haven’t been able to have a child of our own. You’ll have guessed that. Archie has always told me that he couldn’t countenance adoption. You know, another man’s child—’ She broke off, sighing in a way that was quite unlike her. But then she lifted her chin and looked straight at Nerys. ‘But perhaps if there is a baby, a real one, needing a loving home, he might see it differently. There’s a chance, isn’t there?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps.’
Knowing Archie, who was outwardly the mildest but also the most strong-minded of men, Nerys was doubtful. But seeing the brilliance of Myrtle’s eyes she couldn’t find it in herself to say so. Her own thoughts were racing on.
A baby, newborn and needing a home. If in the end Myrtle couldn’t step in, she could offer to do so herself. An orphan, an Indian baby, how could Evan refuse to help?
‘Whatever happens, we’ve got to look after poor Caroline,’ Myrtle said.
‘Will you tell me something? What does Archie mean by a three-letter man?’
Myrtle lifted one dark eyebrow. ‘It means a queer,’ she explained.
‘I thought that was probably it.’
‘ZAHRA’S SHAWL’
Mair sipped at a glass of warm gin slightly diluted with flat tonic water. Caroline Bowen’s eyesight was obviously troubling her because she had to angle her head away from her enviably straight spine just to hold her visitor in partial focus. Mair had begun to explain her mission to Ladakh and Kashmir, but it was too long-winded and she could see that the old lady wasn’t following her.
‘What did you say? I’m sorry, I don’t get many visitors,’ she broke in, before Mair had half finished.
The plump attendant had gone away after pouring the gin, but now she shuffled back. She looked discouragingly at Mair. ‘I told you. Mrs Bowen is tired today.’
Mair drew her chair closer, taking care not to knock the stool supporting the bandaged leg. ‘I’m the one who should be apologising, barging in on you like this.’
Caroline Bowen’s smile broke through her confusion. Like a reflection in rippled water, Mair caught a surprising glimpse of the young woman she had once been. A momentary half-recognition snagged in her mind but it was gone as soon as she reached for it.
‘Oh, I’m jolly glad to have some company. Aruna and I get pretty bored here on our own, you know. Won’t you tell me your name again? My memory’s absolutely shocking, I’m afraid.’
‘It’s Mair.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s Welsh.’
The white head tipped again as she peered through invisible mists. ‘Welsh, eh?’
‘Mrs Bowen, do you remember as far back as the 1940s? My maternal grandparents were out in Srinagar in those days, with the Welsh Presbyterian Mission, and I’m trying to trace them. I know it’s a very long shot, but I thought you might just remember something …’
It was as if the mist thinned to allow Mrs Bowen a glimpse of a familiar view.
‘Who were they? Who did you say? I was here, you know – 1941, 1942. Such times, they were. My husband was Indian Army. He was in the defence of Singapore against the Japanese. So many brave men died.’
‘Was your husband killed?’
Across the room, Aruna made a move.
The white head turned, the eyes dim and almost sightless again. ‘Ralph? No. He was very brave – he won the MC. I’m sorry, dear, I don’t know anyone … What name did you say? Has our friend got enough to drink, Aruna? Where have you gone?’
‘Oh, yes, this is plenty for me,’ Mair said quickly. She made a move to gather herself before taking her leave, and Caroline looked up anxiously.
‘Don’t go just yet. It’s heavenly to have a chat like this.’
Mair was uneasy. There was something not quite normal about Caroline Bowen. Perhaps it was just her great age and her apparent isolation in this sunny, ordinary room. ‘I don’t want to tire you.’
‘That’s quite all right. I have masses of time to rest, you know. What were we talking about?’
‘You mentioned your husband, and the war. Have you been living in Srinagar ever since?’
Again there was a movement from Aruna, this one more definitely an intervention. Caroline lifted her hand.
‘No. I went home in ’forty-five. Myrtle and her husband, they stayed on, but most of us went home. After Partition, of course, everything was quite different. The old India was gone. And Kashmir, ah, a sad story. You won’t remember, Aruna, what it was like in those days. We had such fun. Such marvellous times.’ She gave up on the struggle to see the present, and let her head fall back against the chair cushions.
Mair guessed that the images in her mind’s eye were much more vivid.
‘I was ill for quite a number of years. That was unfortunate, of course. I was in a nursing home in England, and you do lose touch. By the time I was well again, or once they’d decided I was well, I should say, I was widowed, and that’s difficult, isn’t it?’
They’d decided? Mair wondered. Who might they be? ‘It must have been.’
‘Are you married, dear?’
Mair smiled at her. ‘No. It’s never happened. Or, strictly speaking, I’ve never reached a point where it seemed important to make that commitment. I’ve had boyfriends, but that’s what they stayed.’
Caroline was delighted with that. ‘How modern. How independent you must be. I’m terribly envious. No widowhood for you, eh?’
‘Not without being married first, I suppose.’
‘That’s marvellous. My advice to you is, stay just the way you are.’
They were both laughing. Once again the younger Caroline shimmered briefly in the old
face. This time, Mair almost pinpointed the evasive likeness to someone, but it floated away again. ‘So then what happened?’ she asked.
‘When?’
‘After you were widowed?’
‘Oh, you don’t want to hear about all that. England’s a very different place, quite different from the country I grew up in. By the time I had a chance to look about me I realised that India felt more like home to me than England ever would. So I came back out here, and I’ve stayed ever since. I can manage, even though everything is so expensive.’
‘It’s time for your medicine,’ Aruna said. She picked up a tray, and the almost-empty gin bottle clinked against the empty tonic-water bottle. Mair thought that if Mrs Bowen was living on a small fixed income, her money would certainly stretch much further here in Kashmir than at home in England. Both women watched Aruna as she made her way across the room, evidently on the way to fetch the promised medicine. Mair picked up her rucksack and her brown pashmina.
‘I’d better go.’ And, as she said it, a face came into sharp focus.
She caught her breath in utter astonishment.
She looked at Mrs Bowen, and immediately she was certain. She burrowed in the bag and brought out the familiar bundle. ‘But before I do, may I just show you something?’
She shook out the shawl so that it billowed in the air, then drifted over Caroline Bowen’s lap.
The silence deepened in the quiet room. Slowly Caroline gathered a handful of the soft stuff between her fingers and lifted it to her face. She seemed to inhale the scent trapped in its folds, and then, with a great effort, she focused her eyes on the colours of a Kashmiri summer.
A long time seemed to pass.
‘Where did you get this?’
‘It was with my late grandmother’s things.’
There was a beat before Caroline whispered, ‘I wish I could see you properly.’
Mair knelt down beside her chair. Caroline’s veined claw of a hand reached out and tentatively explored the contours of her cheek and jaw.